


the heat of the moment

by Liu



Category: DC's Legends of Tomorrow (TV)
Genre: Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Alpha/Omega, Canon Compliant, First Kiss, Implied Sexual Content, Infertility, M/M, Mating Cycles/In Heat, Misunderstandings, Non-Traditional Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Omega!Mick, Post-Season/Series 03, alpha!Ray, frustrated Mick, implied possibility of mpreg for the 'verse in general, mentions of canon-compliant death, oblivious ray
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-22
Updated: 2018-04-22
Packaged: 2019-04-26 11:05:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,088
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14400843
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Liu/pseuds/Liu
Summary: Mick takes a deep breath and lets it out in a growl, fists curling at his side again. Ray takes a step forward without thinking, and then the dam bursts and Mick whirls around, eyes wild and ears burning, looking very much like a trapped animal.“You were triggering my heat, Haircut!” he snaps and rubs his gloved hand down his face. “Now you know, so just… go away and don’t worry about it, I’ll survive without you just fine.”((or the one where Ray is terrified of being an Alpha and Mick is not your typical Omega))





	the heat of the moment

**Author's Note:**

> I don't even know how this evolved from a drabble, but I kinda love it. Not your typical a/b/o probably so consider yourselves warned.
> 
> Canon-compliant up until the end of season 3, however weird that might sound.
> 
> Unbeta-ed, so if you find anything wrong with this, I'll be forever grateful if you let me know.

Ray has always been terrified of Omegas.

It’s a silly fear to have, for an Alpha – but the thought of losing control so completely, of operating on pure instinct and having little say in his own actions is far from appealing. Getting through life without turning into one of those aggressive, glassy-eyed Alphas on TV isn’t so hard: he dates nice Beta girls, and on one occasion, a nice Beta boy, and he tries not to breathe too deeply in public spaces. He gets used to spicy food that helps dull his sense of smell and carries a nasal spray in his pocket just in case, but Omegas are not that hard to avoid, not when they’re probably worried about the exact same thing as Ray, except from a different standpoint.

He’s a little concerned when he’s invited (kidnapped) to the Waverider, but it quickly turns out that he’s got nothing to worry about. The team’s almost evenly split between Alphas and Betas, and Ray wonders  if he might learn a thing or two about how other Alphas navigate the minefield of life. There’s Sara, who would probably hit on anything she liked regardless of genetics – which is not a skill Ray wants to hone; there’s Snart, whose iron control on his instincts makes Ray envy the man just a little bit, especially when it becomes clear that Snart’s not interested in even talking to him, much less giving out pointers.

Kendra is the first Alpha Ray has ever dated, and sometimes, late at night when things go dark and hurt deeply, Ray wonders if she would’ve stayed if he were better at matching her speed, if he weren’t so caught up in trying _not_ to be an Alpha that he got himself stuck in this odd limbo where it feels like he doesn’t really belong anywhere. But with the Legion and the Spear and everything inbetween, it’s easier to forget than Ray would’ve liked.

Mick is a breath of fresh, grumpy air at that point, even though it’s not easy to get close to him. And maybe Ray should stop trying: but the air of loneliness that follows Mick around like a dark cloud speaks to Ray more than he would care to admit, and he’s not about to let a teammate have only beer for company. And Mick – Mick turns out to be surprisingly _good_ company, even if he doesn’t talk too much and when he does, half the time only insults pour out. What matters more to Ray is that when he needs someone, Mick is usually there with his quiet frowns and his presence, and he allows Ray to be there for him as well.

Sometimes, anyway. Mick withdraws from the rest of the team more often than not, and after one too many times of being bluntly ignored or having Mick snarl away Ray’s offer of companionship, it’s impossible not to take a hint. Nate fills the void, in a way, but the problem is, he soon becomes more interested in spending time with Amaya than Ray. And the problem also is that sometimes, Ray still finds himself looking at Mick and wondering what he did that the man can’t seem to stand being near him for more than ten seconds at a time.

It probably speaks volumes that everyone, Ray included, thinks he’s a Beta when stuck in the role of Thawne’s janitor. Remembering his true status feels like an itch in some odd place where he can’t reach, like something’s subtly wrong and he can’t tell why, and it takes weeks for him to get rid of that unpleasant feeling at the back of his mind.

Actually, it doesn’t fully disappear until he’s back on the Waverider: Ray would happily attribute that to the fact that he’d much rather get bossed around by an accomplished assassin of an Alpha whom he actually respects than a twenty-something Silicon Valley Alpha with serious confidence issues translating into being a jerk. Except that’s not all there is to it, and Ray can’t really put his finger on it. There’s hardly time for introspection with the whirlwind that is totems and demons and the Darhks (and a Nazi invasion from another Earth thrown in), and Ray’s become a master of ignoring his nagging subconscious.

So it’s quite a rude awakening when things finally click.

They’re hunting demons instead of aberrations now, and Ray, amidst the near-constant fear for his life, thinks that’s kind of cool. He’s busy keeping an eye on Sara, because even if they have John Constantine with them at the moment and Mallus has his own winged, horned body, Ray still remembers that Sara might be a bit more susceptible to possession than the rest of them. Which is, ironically, why it’s _not_ Sara who gets dragged away on a particularly gloomy, 19 th-century day and ends up chained to a chair in a basement straight out of the worst low-budget horror movie. 

“There he is,” Sara snorts when they finally spot Mick, shirtless, sweaty and very obviously unhappy. She takes a step towards him, and Ray-

Ray promptly gets in her way, putting himself firmly between her and Mick before he even realizes what he’s doing.

Sara stares at him. Ray blinks. Mick, still chained to a chair, groans.

And suddenly it all makes a horrifying sort of sense, Mick always covering as much of his skin as he possibly can, even wearing gloves around the ship. Mick, keeping his distance from everybody, avoiding touch like the plague. Mick, always smelling of smoke, always with an open bottle of alcohol in hand.

Suddenly, Ray _knows_ , and he must’ve been blind not to notice before. But the thing is… he doesn’t move out of Sara’s way. He doesn’t think he can, even with his mind reeling and stomach churning. Because as much as Ray fears Omegas in general, this is Mick, the man who carried him out of a gulag, who hit him over the head just because he refused to watch Ray get himself killed by the Oculus, who sat right next to Ray and a bomb and stuffed his face with cake, telling Ray that all he needed was to be himself when everyone else in Ray’s life always wanted him to change. The man who trusted _Ray_ of all people to keep him from becoming a zombie, who gave Ray the gun of his dead best friend and then shot that best friend when Ray was in danger of getting iced.

So Ray pushes down the nausea swirling in his stomach at the thought of losing his senses due to pure biology, because this is so much more: he doesn’t want to protect Mick because he’s some puffed-up Alpha beating his chest over a poor Omega in distress. This isn’t just _any_ Omega after all. This is _Mick_ , and that’s all that really matters.

His new-found determination must show, because Sara rolls her eyes and makes a visible effort to relax her posture before she takes a step back:

“You’ve got five minutes. If you’re not out of here by then, we’re leaving you.”

It’s an empty threat at best, after all they’ve been through, but Ray’s grateful for that bit of tough love. He turns to Mick, whose glare is decidedly wary underneath the several layers of ‘pissed-off’ and a few more layers of ‘scared’. Mick would never admit it, but Ray can see the same look in his eyes now that he had during their own private zombie apocalypse – if the man was worried about turning into a zombie, surely he’s not a fan of demonic possession in any capacity.

Ray crouches down by the chair and makes quick work of the chains; they clank loudly as they fall to the concrete floor and Ray’s offering Mick a hand before he can think about it, only to have it slapped away before Mick’s getting to his feet, a little wobbly but still glaring fiercely.

“Touch me and I’ll kill you,” he snaps and staggers towards the doorway, and Ray feels like a coward, but he’s glad that Mick can manage on his own. He’s not sure what to do now, his world having tilted sideways in a blink of an eye, and Mick acting like his old grumpy self is actually helping a little.

Sara side-eyes him all the way to the Waverider, but doesn’t say anything, and Ray almost wishes she would. Was he the only one not to know? The question itches at the back of his mind and Ray doesn’t know what to do with himself once the debrief is over and Mick skulks away to the med bay, or more accurately, to his own private version of it that includes beer and little else. Ray only finds out because his feet carry him to the med bay only to find it empty, and he’s already checked the kitchen too by the time he realizes he’s looking for Mick. He assembles a quick sandwich, hiding enough vegetables in it to appease his constant worry that one of his teammates is going to die of a heart attack, and it’s not until he’s at Mick’s door that it occurs to him he doesn’t make food for anyone as often as he does for Mick. And it’s not that Ray never noticed that before, it was just easy to tell himself that the rest of the team are more or less capable of preparing and eating food that isn’t just deep-fried sugar.

Mick might have a point about Ray being an idiot, but it would be far easier to laugh at himself if he didn’t feel that hollow ache somewhere in the center of his chest.

The door slides open without resistance, and Ray’s ready to take that as a good sign, until he sees Mick yank his feet off the table and sit up straight, almost like he’s expecting an attack.

“The fuck are you doing here, Haircut?” he challenges and grabs the open beer bottle off the table. It hurts, the insinuation that Mick doesn’t trust him not to… what, pounce on the first Omega in sight? Ray might be insulted if he didn’t fear the same thing, ever since he was fourteen and manifesting, terrified that he was going to hurt someone just because of what he was.

He doesn’t feel any overwhelming urge to push Mick down and bite him, or whatever aggressive nonsense the Alphas on television usually do, so he decides to brave the conversation that really needs to happen, even if Mick is staring at him like he’d rather gouge his eye out with a plastic spoon than talk about _feelings_. The thought startles Ray even worse – since when has he been thinking about feelings when it comes to Mick? But the answer is ready at the back of his mind: he’s spent so much time worrying about Mick’s well-being, from food through drinking too much to sleeping patterns, in a fight and late at night when watching some silly movie that Mick seemed to take way too seriously. So much time watching for signs of distress, feeling content when Mick laughed about something and went a few hours without reaching for a bottle, when he grudgingly accepted burgers and sandwiches and didn’t pick the veggies out.

This time, Mick glares at the sandwich like it has offended him, and then turns that glare to Ray, who realizes Mick has asked him a question. Well, it was more of a ‘go away’ with a question mark tacked to the end, but Ray takes it at face value and shrugs:

“I just wanted to see how you were doing.”

“Because I can’t be trusted to take care of myself?” Mick sneers, a challenge if Ray ever heard one. He doesn’t let it get to him, doesn’t let himself wonder if he has been worrying about Mick all this time just because of _that_.

“No,” Ray says slowly, “because you were abducted by demons, and you might have been hurt. And because we’re a team.”

The word seems to get through to Mick; for a second, something flickers in his eyes that Ray takes as an invitation to set the sandwich down on the table. He keeps his distance afterwards, even though he recognizes the quiet urge to fuss, to see if Mick isn’t hiding an injury that could turn serious. It’s there, right under the surface, but it’s not an overwhelming _need_ , the way it works in the movies, and Ray relaxes a little. He can do this – _they_ can do this, because as much as all seven of them are a team, there were times when Ray considered Mick and himself a team of their own, too, and he’s not ready to give up on that, biology or not.

Mick seems to be working that out on his own at the same time, because he grunts again and grudgingly picks up the sandwich, biting into it and glowering at Ray in a much more familiar manner.

“I hate avocado,” he mumbles through a mouthful, but doesn’t start rooting through the sandwich to fix it. Ray tries not to focus on how proud it makes him feel.

“It’s good for you,” he smiles a little, repeating their usual arguments about whether all green things are toxic to the human body. Mick doesn’t dignify that with a response, but he takes another bite, munching aggressively, and Ray can’t keep quiet anymore. “Mick… nothing has to change. We’re still- we’re a team, you and I, okay?”

And it’s not true anymore, hasn’t been true for weeks, months now, ever since Mick started pulling away, but Ray recognizes that ember of hope in his heart now for what it is: now that he _knows_ , Mick doesn’t have to keep pulling away, and maybe they can pick up where they left off before things went south. He never realized how much he’s missed the man who has only been a few feet away all this time, but he has, and now that he knows, Ray refuses to let things settle back into that uncomfortable, tense limbo they’ve been stuck in ever since-

-since Mick chose to side with Snart and the Legion. The realization feels like being hit with the cold gun straight to the gut: Snart, unapologetically, confidently Alpha, and Mick always in his shadow. Mick, destroyed and out of his mind when Snart dropped him in the middle of nowhere; Mick, unable to say ‘no’ when Snart showed up again, demanding Mick’s allegiance like it was his right.

Mick, turning on the Alpha in the end, choosing the team over the man who must’ve meant so much to him, more than Ray has ever understood. Pride and admiration rise in Ray’s chest as he watches this man, this amazing, strong man, making faces at an avocado sandwich like he hasn’t single-handedly proven Ray’s greatest fear wrong, proven that biology only means as much as one lets it.

“Are you sure you’re not hurt?” he asks, because he can’t give voice to all the other words lodged in his throat, the _how_ and _why_ and _please_ , the ones he doesn’t even dare to think out loud because they’re way too much.

And Mick’s already glaring at him anyway, half the sandwich forgotten on the plate as he rises from his chair.

“You gonna treat me like a little girl now, Haircut? ‘Poor fucking Omega, doesn’t know shit about anything’, that it?”

“No!” Ray yelps, ready to backtrack but not really knowing how. “No, I-“

“Lemme tell you, I’ve been taking care of myself just fine. So take your pity and fuck off before I knock that bullshit right out of you.”

It’s not the first time Mick has threatened him, but so far, his threats have been benign, shaving his head, slapping his hand away, or the generic ‘I’ll kill you’ that Ray never believed in the first place. But this right there, this fire in Mick’s eyes, burns way too dangerously to ignore and Ray has to consciously try not to take a step back.

“Mick… that’s not what I meant,” he raises his hands in a placating gesture, but it doesn’t stop Mick’s advance – or his anger.

“You fucking deaf or something, Haircut? Go!”

It would be easy to turn away and run for the door, and the part of Ray that hates physical confrontation really wants to do just that.

But another part of him, a part whispering about Mick hurting underneath all that burning rage, turns his feet to stone and makes him straighten his back and look Mick in the eye, facing whatever comes head-on.

“No.”

The single word seems to rattle Mick for no more than half a second.

“No?!” he growls and moves closer; he pulls back his fist, but Ray refuses to flinch or run, just holds Mick’s gaze, inviting him to do his worst because Ray is here to stay. He knows it goes against what he just said, that Mick might interpret this as Ray thinking he knows better about Mick’s own feelings or wishes… but Ray needs to show this man that he’s willing to brave the storm, that his friendship and support don’t end with pretty words and easy camaraderie. He needs Mick to understand that the hurt won’t scare him away. For a tense moment, he thinks Mick might actually deck him for real: but just as Ray doesn’t move, neither does Mick, and eventually he lets his fist drop with a loud growl, twisting around and kicking the nearby table with violence that makes Ray wince behind Mick’s back.

“I hate this,” Mick snaps, at nothing and no one in particular, kicking the table again for good measure. The legs screech against the floor and an empty beer bottle topples to the ground. “Can’t even…”

His voice breaks then, and Ray understands. Mick has always preferred the physical form of communication, be it in pats on the back or fists in the face, and the fact that he’s been robbed of that must sting. But Ray refuses to attribute it to anything but their friendship – and he needs Mick to stop beating himself up for something _good_.

“I’ve seen you punch a lot of people, Mick,” he says to that broad back, tense and still turned to him. “A lot of Alphas, too. Don’t you think that maybe you just don’t want to hit me because- because we’re friends?”

At first, it looks like Mick is relaxing a little: but then, Ray realizes that the hunch of his shoulders resembles… defeat.

“Will you stop repeating that?!” he grumbles under his breath, so quietly that Ray can barely hear the confusing demand.

“What? That we’re friends? I thought we were. I mean, after all that we’ve been through, I didn’t get why you would avoid me all of a sudden, but now I know and we can-”

“Shut up, Haircut. You don’t know shit. Just leave me alone.”

It comes out all quiet and wrong, and every instinct in Ray’s body screams to get close and provide comfort. But that’s not what Mick wants, and Ray’s going to respect that even if it’s the last thing he does.

“Mick?” he asks instead, worry overflowing into his words. “Talk to me, buddy. What is it?”

Mick takes a deep breath and lets it out in a growl, fists curling at his side again. Ray takes a step forward without thinking, and then the dam bursts and Mick whirls around, eyes wild and ears burning, looking very much like a trapped animal.

“You were triggering my heat, Haircut!” he snaps and rubs his gloved hand down his face. “Now you know, so just… go away and don’t worry about it, I’ll survive without you just fine.”

He turns away again, but not before Ray sees the crooked smirk, like the man’s mocking himself for yet another thing he can’t control. The sight hurts Ray to the core, his stomach twisting again because the thought that just his presence has been making Mick miserable is a horrible one to have lodged in his mind like a splinter. And he knows it will fester if he lets it – it will poison whatever semblance of a friendship they still have, and he’s not going to let that happen.

“No,” he repeats, and can practically feel Mick tensing again.

“Didn’t you hear me?”

He did, but he can’t make any sense of it. Heats are supposed to be unbearable without… something, an Alpha, or a regular dose of suppressants, and Ray’s sure he would’ve noticed if Mick were swallowing pills every couple of hours. There have been missions that lasted way too long, he would’ve seen, would’ve known.

“But you didn’t…” he starts, and doesn’t really know how to finish that half-question, half-statement without driving Mick even further away. It seems that he doesn’t have to say it, though: Mick snorts and shakes his head, and when he twists around to glare at Ray again, it’s far from friendly.

“What? I didn’t keel over, so it can’t be true? Can’t be trusted to know what’s going on, huh?”

Ray feels tired, all of a sudden, tired of Mick’s defenses built up sky-high over the years, but he knows that if he leaves now, nothing will change. Or it will, for the worse, and he can’t let that happen.

“I didn’t mean it like that. I just… A heat is difficult to hide, from what I’ve gathered. And we’ve been on this ship for a long time.”

Mick’s eyes shift away at that, and a sense of dread suddenly overwhelms Ray even before the man speaks again, scowling at the walls of his room like they’re the ones asking unpleasant questions.

“Don’t worry, Haircut. It’s pretty weak for me. I’ve been in the slammer one too many times, I guess. Made me, you know. Infernal.”

Ray blinks, not understanding the reference for a moment, but his brain automatically shifts the sounds around, used to the way Mick talks. And then it clicks, with a sick sense of finality to the right word. _Infertile._ Ray has heard about the suppressants forced on Omegas in prisons, after some human rights groups lobbied against the custom of solitary confinement, but he never knew they could cause lasting damage.

“Oh,” is all he manages, and Mick gives him that ugly, self-deprecating smirk again.

“Yeah.”

He wonders what that means for Mick, whether the man ever wanted the things that have been denied to him, a bond, a family. He never struck Ray as the parenting type, but who can tell if that has always been true or if it was a defense mechanism, stopping himself from wanting things he could not have. Ray knows that process intimately, and he also knows how that wishful thinking never quite goes away completely.

“It still has to be uncomfortable, I guess?” Ray says, because he’s heard enough about heats to know that even a weak one must be a pain to deal with. He expects another outburst of rage in response, but Mick deflates a little, anger giving way to something deeper and sadder.

“It’s not that bad. Snart… he helped. Before.”

 _Before he died_ – _and before he abandoned Mick in the middle of nowhere,_ Ray’s mind supplies, right before a flare of something painful and ugly roars in his chest. He pushes it down with as much force as he can muster, but his brain decides to be completely unhelpful and provide him with a reel of the most exaggerated, dramatic rom-coms he’s seen in his life. He feels his face heat up, and of course that’s when Mick decides to look at him and… snort.

“You’re an idiot,” he snarls. “The guy was around, I smelled of Alpha, it kept other assholes away. And I never reacted to _him_. That’s all.”

“I didn’t mean… I’m sorry. You have to know – I don’t want-“

“I know.”

Ray’s not even really sure what he wanted to get across, but Mick’s weary, resigned sigh would’ve made him forget it anyway. And suddenly it occurs to Ray that maybe the whole problem here isn’t that Mick is afraid of Ray attacking him. Maybe, just maybe, the problem lies elsewhere, in the things Ray _won’t_ do rather than those he could, and it’s surprising that the thought stirs up warmth in his chest instead of discomfort.

“I could do that for you,” he blurts out, offering something he doesn’t even understand before he can think things through, and it’s quickly becoming a pattern when talking to Mick, putting his foot in his mouth with every word. Mick shoots him an indecipherable look, and Ray stumbles forward because he couldn’t stop himself now if he tried. “The… um. The… being close? And I don’t mean that you can’t take care of yourself, you obviously can, I’m sure of that, but… it might make things easier, so if you’re up for it…”

Mick smirks, shaking his head like he can’t believe what he’s hearing. “So what, you gonna gimme your shirt to wear? Or just rub yourself all over me so I stink of you?”

Sarcasm is dripping off every word, and Ray really hates the ‘yes’ that thrums through his veins anyway – he’s better than this, better than a mindless walking stereotype, and Mick’s not some pitiful weakling in need of being rescued.

“Is that what you did with Snart?” he asks instead, and it comes out all sharp and wrong, so he fully expects another round of well-deserved anger directed his way. But Mick just gives him a thoughtful look for a moment, and then laughs, the sound echoing hollowly through the room.

“That one’s really bothering you, isn’t it. You’re forgetting one little detail, Haircut. _You’re_ the problem here.”

It hurts, in more ways than one, but Ray can’t really argue with that. If he’s been causing Mick’s distress, whether of the physical or mental kind, then his presence really isn’t going to help. It takes the wind right out of his sails and he wishes there was something he could say to make it all better, but words seem to have outlived their usefulness in this case, and so Ray bites his tongue to stop the half-formed pleas threatening to spill out, and nods.

“I’m sorry,” he says, for what feels like the hundredth time, before turning and fleeing the conversation he didn’t expect to go so spectacularly bad.

He wanders to the kitchen and sits down, pushing away the thought that maybe he only came here because his subconscious wants to console Mick in some way, and food is the only comfort the man seems to allow. He can only imagine Mick’s face if Ray slunk back with another sandwich, so he sits at the table and twists his fingers together to stop his hands from shaking.

“Doctor Palmer?” Gideon asks from above, startling him out of his gloomy thoughts. “I have detected elevated heart rate. May I suggest some herbal tea?”

For a second, Ray’s tempted to take that offer: he’s not about to start drinking away his trouble, since that doesn’t seem to be working for Mick either. But just as he’s about to ask for a nice hot cup of chamomile, a thought occurs to him and Ray perks up in his seat:

“Gideon? Can you manufacture something from the future for me?”

“Considering that your future is likely my past, doctor Palmer, the answer is yes. What did you have in mind?”

Ray breathes out a sigh of relief and rattles out his order. It might not be enough – but it’s a start.

…

It takes Mick a few days to notice – but to be fair, most of that time is spent hunting down a vicious group of pocket-sized demons that smell strongly of rotten eggs, so everyone’s sense of smell is shot. On the other hand, Mick doesn’t seem to make any more effort to avoid Ray, happily burning demons down right by his side and even pulling him out of the way of a fireball a few times, so it can probably be counted as a victory.

Ray is just getting out of the shower, glad to be rid of the rotten smell and re-applying his futuristic solution when Mick saunters into the communal bathroom and promptly freezes.

“What is that?” he growls, and Ray blinks at the body spray in his hand. The odor is still hanging in the air a little, and yes, Ray will admit it’s no high-end cologne, but…

“It’s not that bad,” he mutters defensively, which doesn’t seem to satisfy Mick, because he stalks close enough to lean in and sniff the air pointedly. So close that Ray yelps and tries to put some distance between them, nearly losing the towel around his hips in the process.

“The fuck it isn’t,” Mick grumbles and makes a grab for the bottle. Ray holds it out of his reach and sighs:

“It’s a pheromone-blocker, alright? From the future. Gideon replicated it for me, so that…”

He stops himself before he can blurt out something that would make them both uncomfortable, but instead of taking it as his cue to drop this matter, Mick’s all up in his personal space. Ray’s butt hits the sink and he swallows, throat suddenly dry.

“What are you doing?”

“You’re an idiot,” Mick huffs, and in another situation, Ray might take that as a term of endearment because that’s probably the nicest Mick ever is to anyone, but… Mick is standing really, really close, and that was the one thing he did not count with. Because maybe, Ray’s Alpha scent is now sufficiently drowned out by the spray, but that doesn’t mean he won’t react if an Omega stands so close that Ray can feel the body heat radiating off Mick and giving Ray goosebumps all over.

Fear twists Ray’s stomach again and he glances around for an escape route, but he doesn’t have the time to focus on it; Mick’s hand is suddenly curling around his wrist and pulling, and Ray has to follow the motion if he doesn’t want to fall flat on his face.

He’s dragged back to the shower and pushed against the tile, water splashing down before Ray can ask again what it is that Mick thinks he’s doing. He squeezes his eyes shut to avoid the water, so he feels more than sees Mick getting closer again, warm hands trailing up Ray’s arms, over his chest, cupping his neck, and the sudden realization comes crashing in, a wave of heat and wonder and _want_.

Mick’s not wearing his gloves.

Ray’s eyes snap open and he promptly has to wince when water drips from his eyelashes, making everything blurry. Mick’s rough, callused palm slides down his chest and Ray sees just enough to notice Mick’s gaze following the path of his touch, curious and weirdly relaxed, like he’s just found the final piece of a puzzle and slotted it into its rightful place.

“Mick?” Ray whispers, so quiet that it gets lost under the sound of the rushing water. He wraps his fingers around the soaked sleeve of Mick’s shirt and just holds on, because there’s heat building in the pit of his stomach and if Mick keeps touching him like that, sweetly, slowly, almost _reverently_ , Ray doesn’t know what he’s going to do. In any case, it’s probably a good idea to stop before they both find out what happens when his fear gets overrun by his baser instincts, by that disgusting Alpha need to dominate and possess and _take_.

Mick’s free hand runs through Ray’s hair and the man steps closer, getting wet in a matter of seconds. The fabric of his shirt is stuck to his chest now and there’s water in his eyelashes; Ray’s never seen anyone more beautiful or terrifying in his whole life.

“There, all better now,” Mick growls, the low sound of it vibrating through Ray like he can feel it rather than hear it. Ray’s breath catches, and Mick leans closer, all heat and muscle and irrational behavior. Is this how heats work? Maybe the blocker wasn’t enough, maybe Ray should’ve tried something more drastic to-

“Stop it,” Mick murmurs and his thumb scrapes against Ray’s stubble. “I can hear you thinking, Haircut. Just stop.”

Ray chokes on a laugh – if he could stop thinking, his life would be very different, but he doesn’t get a chance to put the thought into words before Mick is leaning in and his nose brushes Ray’s neck. He takes a deep breath and Ray’s knees go weak, his grip on Mick’s wrist tightening just a fraction. Mick pulls away then, something painful and sad in his eyes.

“I ain’t gonna do nothing. So don’t put that crap on again, yeah?”

“Why?” Ray blurts and doesn’t let go of Mick. “I thought it would help. You know, with the… the heats and stuff, so could stop avoiding me.”

Mick’s eyes go wide, for just a second before water gets into them and he blinks furiously, shaking his head like an angry, wet dog.

“You thought I was avoiding you because of the heat?”

It’s Ray’s turn to take ‘confused’ to a whole new level. “Weren’t you?”

“No. Yes. Fuck,” Mick rubs a hand down his face, letting out a low, irritated growl. “Not because I was _afraid_ of you, Jesus. I can take you down in half a second, Haircut, that was never a problem. But you get all weird around Omegas, alright? Like you’re afraid of yourself. And I don’t do that. I won’t… _force_ you to…”

He trails off, looking so lost that Ray’s heart throbs painfully at the sight, and in that moment, it dawns on Ray that it’s never been his biology keeping him at an arm’s length from Mick – it was his fear to reach out and grab a good thing when it’s been hanging right there in front of him all along. And Mick has been worrying about it for who knows how long, worrying about _Ray_ feeling pressured or tricked into… liking Mick. It’s such a ridiculous thought that Ray wants to laugh at himself for never seeing through his fear and realizing that what he wanted was not based in some purely physical reaction. Gosh, Mick has definitely been right all those times he called Ray an idiot.

Well, he refuses to be afraid any longer.

It takes one good surprise tug and Mick tumbles into Ray, damp cotton dragging against Ray’s naked chest, and Ray doesn’t give the man any chance to recover or escape before he’s pressing their mouths together in a messy, wet kiss that doesn’t quite land right but Ray doesn’t care. His fingers clench in Mick’s shirt and keep him right there, but Mick’s not making any effort to move back, licking into Ray’s mouth like his life depends on it. His huge, rough hands slide down to cup Ray’s naked ass and Ray whimpers into the kiss; he hasn’t felt himself grow hard so fast for at least a decade. The water makes everything slick and Ray blindly gropes for the fly of Mick’s pants, but before he can figure it out, Mick’s pulling back and scowling at him.

The fear’s back, fear that Mick will put a stop to this and it swirls in Ray’s stomach like an unpleasant reminder of how blind he’s been.

“Haircut…”

“Yes?”

“If you bite me, I’ll knock your teeth in. Just sayin’.”

Ray’s laughter echoes through the shower before Mick tilts his head and kisses him just right.

…

It turns out that Mick has absolutely no shame and would happily walk back to his room (or Ray’s, maybe) in nothing but his birth suit after they get out of the shower and he chucks his wet clothes. Ray hastily drapes a towel around Mick’s waist and gets a glare for his trouble, but he quietly applauds his foresight when they step out of the bathroom and nearly bump right into Sara.

She gives them one knowing look, a smirk, and a wink before walking away.

Ray could swear he hears her muttering ‘finally’ before she disappears behind the bend of the corridor, but in all fairness, Ray has to agree.

 

**Author's Note:**

> Come talk to me on [tumblr.](https://pheuthe.tumblr.com)


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